


your lips on mine

by inexhaustible



Category: DAYS (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Askbox Fic, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-09-13 21:13:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9142456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inexhaustible/pseuds/inexhaustible
Summary: first kisses: four ways it happens, in four different worlds.





	

**i. the one where they’re childhood friends.**  
They’re crashing on Kiichi’s couch, a cheap action flick playing on the television. Kiichi’s parents were off on another business trip, and it’d been a slow day at school, so he’d invited Kimishita over. It’s almost the end of the year, and Kiichi sprawls out over the sofa, laying back on Kimishita’s lap and getting into his personal space.

“Y’think we’ll still be friends in high school?” Kiichi asks, suddenly feeling strangely insecure, fingers fiddling with the hem of his shirt, eyes averted. Kimishita stares at him, and then slaps him soundly across the head. Kiichi winces, hand flying up to protect his head.

“Oi!” he snaps. “What was that for?”

“That was for being stupid,” Kimishita growls. “Of course, dumbass. You think I’ve stuck with your worthless ass for so long just to throw it away now?” Kiichi snorts, indignant, but despite Kimishita’s tone, his words make something warm bloom in Kiichi’s chest, and he rolls over, pressing his face into Kimishita’s side.

“You like me,” he teases. “Admit it, asshole.”

Kimishita huffs, but says nothing to defend himself, and Kiichi smiles, rolling onto his back again, pillowing his head on Kimishita’s thigh. Kimishita’s looking at him with a strange expression on his face, and Kiichi’s struck with how much he’s fond of his prickly, antisocial friend despite all the shit he has to put up with. He glances at the screen and gets an idea, shooting upward, sitting up and turning to Kimishita.

“Kimishita,” he says, in his best pleading tone. Kimishita recognizes it, and Kiichi sees a vein pulse on his forehead.

“What is it now,” Kimishita grits out. Kiichi looks at the screen, where the manly protagonist has just saved the damsel in distress, receiving a kiss for his valiant efforts.

“Kiss me,” Kiichi proclaims.

He’s rewarded for his bravery with a sock to the face, and he falls off the sofa, clutching his cheek and whining. 

“Don’t fuck with me,” Kimishita says, but he’s not meeting Kiichi’s eyes. 

“I wasn’t,” Kiichi says, open and honest and vulnerable. “I just – wanna know how it feels.” 

“Why are you asking me?” Kimishita asks, voice strained and almost panicked. “Get a girlfriend, if you’re so desperate.” Kiichi doesn’t know what he wants, doesn’t know why he wants, but he does. Silence hangs taut in the air.

“I don’t know,” Kiichi says, finally, and his voice sounds as lost as he feels. He takes in a breath, holds it for a beat before letting it out. “Forget it,” he mutters. “It was a dumb idea, you’re right.”

Kimishita gets up off the sofa, walking over to him. Kiichi’s gaze is still fixed impetuously on the ground, and he watches as Kimishita’s feet approach until he’s standing in front of him. Kimishita makes a frustrated noise, kneeling down and putting a hand on Kiichi’s neck – and for a split second, Kiichi thinks this is it, this is the day where Kimishita finally snaps and murders him –

– but then, warm fingers slide up to his jaw, tilting his face upward.  _Oh_ , Kiichi thinks, distantly, before Kimishita’s lips are on his, and he grabs at Kimishita’s shirt, not sure where to put his hands. Kimishita pulls away, and he’s scowling, but his face is red.

“Dumbass,” he says, but there’s no bite to it this time, and Kiichi’s smile is so bright it’s blinding.

* * *

**ii. the one where kiichi’s jealous.**  
“Mizuki!” Kimishita shouts, and sends a perfect pass across the field. Mizuki smiles, breathless and excited, receiving the pass flawlessly and taking the shot. 

It’s a perfect goal, and Kiichi can’t even be mad.

Scratch that, so he’s a little mad. He’s a little mad that Kimishita’d passed to Mizuki, who had marks on him, and not Kiichi, who’d been free and in-position. He’s just – he’s not  _jealous_.

But he is.

_Hold it in, Kiichi. You can do this, just – two more steps and you’re off the field. Just… hold back._

He doesn’t, of course.

“Kimishita!” he yells, clenching his fists at his sides. “The fuck was that?” The other members of the team are shaking their heads, averting their eyes, muttering, but he can’t care less. “I was free!”

Kimishita slides his gaze to him, dismissive. “And?”

“And I could’ve made that shot, asshole!” 

“Hmm,” Kimishita says, already turning away. “Nice shot, Mizuki.”

Mizuki smiles, gives Kimishita a thumbs up, and Kiichi’s blood wants to boil. He strides forward, fuming – he’ll show that bastard a  _nice shot_ , he thinks, but then Kazama’s in his way, giving him an easy smile that he wants to punch off the brat’s face.

“Hey, hey,” Kazama says, hands up in front of him, placating. “What’s done is done. Do this later.” Kiichi lets out a low growl of frustration, moving to push past him, and Kazama glances around, takes a step closer.

“Save your jealousy for later. You want his attention? This isn’t the way to get it,” Kazama says, lowly, and Kiichi freezes, feeling as if he’s been doused in cold water. He moves, suddenly, fisting a hand in Kazama’s collar.

“The fuck did you say?” he snarls, feeling as if he’s walking a dangerous line. Kazama just shrugs and smirks, his suspicions confirmed.

“You tell me,” Kazama says, shaking him off. 

Kiichi stands there, deadly still, until the whistle breaks his daze, draws him back into the frenetic rhythm of the game. 

Finally, it ends with Seiseki winning 1-0, Mizuki’s goal being the single deciding factor in their victory. Kiichi’s too conflicted to even feel anything over that, still caught on Kazama’s off-hand comments. 

_Am I that obvious?_  he thinks, suddenly panicked. He’s still standing there, lost in thought, when he feels a hand land hard on his chest, pushing him backwards. He stumbles, caught off-guard, and barely rights himself before Kimishita’s in his face, screaming at him about some play or another that he’d missed. Kiichi blinks up at him, all the words flying past him in a rush.

Kimishita snaps fingers in his face, glaring up at him.

“Oi, are you even fucking listening?” he asks, and Kiichi snaps to attention, grabs Kimishita’s wrist, still in front of his face. Kimishita bristles immediately, moving to dodge a hit, but stops when Kiichi doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything.

“Is Mizuki that much better than me?” Kiichi asks, before he can help it, and hates how his voice sounds so insecure, so weak. 

“Yes,” Kimishita says immediately, flatly, and Kiichi resists the urge to strangle him.  _Don’t respond so quickly, asshole –_

“Kiichi.” Kimishita’s voice startles him out of his thoughts, surprisingly serious, though his brows are drawn together. Kiichi realizes he’s still clutching Kimishita’s wrist, releasing it quickly. Kimishita takes a deep breath, as if trying to calm himself, and he sounds angry when he speaks again. “Is  _that_  what this is about?”

Kiichi doesn’t respond, only pulling up a mental list of the advantages he has over Mizuki. He looks away when he comes up blank, only trait on the list being  _height,_ of all things. 

_Guess that’s fair,_  he thinks, pulling up memories of Kimishita’s impressed half-smile at Mizuki’s triumphant thumbs up.  _Mizuki has everything. I can’t even hate him._

Kiichi glances around the pitch, realizing that the rest of the team’s already gone back into the locker room, leaving only the two of them on the field, sky rapidly darkening above.

“What do you  _want_ , Kiichi?” Kimishita says, finally, and he sounds – resigned. Tired. 

Kiichi’s tired, too, of fighting this, so he leans down, pressing a quick kiss to the corner of Kimishita’s lips, watching him freeze and pull back. Hurt races quickly across Kiichi’s face, but he swallows it down, turning to leave.

A hand grabs his arm, pulling him backwards.

“You – can’t just do that and then leave,” Kimishita chokes out.

“Watch me,” Kiichi says – and he does.

When he comes back for practice the next day, they act as if nothing’s changed, and Kiichi pretends it doesn’t wear away at him, pretends it doesn’t make his steps falter on the field, pretends he doesn’t fall asleep thinking about Kimishita’s hand on his arm, about what could’ve happened if he hadn’t pulled away.

* * *

**iii. the one where they’re just blowing off steam.**  
Kimishita slams him up against a locker and Kiichi winces at the blunt impact to the back of his head, pushing Kimishita forcefully back and throwing a punch that he knows will miss. Kimishita dodges it easily, responding with a hit of his own.

Kiichi makes no move to dodge and the hit lands. Kiichi feels blood start to drip down the inside of his nose, raises a hand to staunch the flow. It’s not broken, at least, but he pulls a face at the metallic taste that erupts in his mouth – he’d bitten himself when Kimishita’d pushed him back, and he spits blood out distastefully onto the ground.

“So we’re just going to keep doing this,” Kiichi says flatly, and Kimishita flinches, just barely, but Kiichi spots it, breathes out a bitter laugh and tilts his head up, lets the blood flow down into his throat. Kiichi doesn’t know why he keeps getting himself into these situations, doesn’t know why he keeps letting Kimishita worm his way under his skin like this.

“Shut the fuck up,” Kimishita barks, roughly, grabbing Kiichi’s collar.  _I should fight back_ , he thinks.  _Follow the script_. He resists the urge to laugh again, because if he does, he thinks he won’t be able to stop. Kiichi raises a weak hand to bat at Kimishita’s hand, but does nothing to stop Kimishita from shoving him hard to the ground, moving half-heartedly to shield his head from the impact before he lands, hard, on his side.

Kimishita’s standing there, breathing hard, staring down at him with confusion written across his features, warring with anger. Kiichi wishes he’d stop looking at him like that, so he gets to his knees, shuffles forward, wincing when he puts his weight on the leg he fell on.

Kimishita’s eyes go wide when he realizes what Kiichi’s doing, when Kiichi raises hands with bruised knuckles to his belt, to his zipper. 

“Kiichi,” he hisses, tugging Kiichi forcefully backwards by his hair.

“You want it, don’t you?” Kiichi asks, voice tinged with fatigue and pain. “I’m giving you what you want.”  _Anything_ , he thinks, closing his eyes against the wave of self-hatred that wells up in him.  _Anything, as long as you touch me. Hit me, fuck me, I don’t care anymore._

“You think  _this_  is what I want?” Kimishita asks, still holding Kiichi back, and Kiichi lets out an frustrated breath. A week ago, they’d done the same thing – Kimishita’d given him a black eye, and he’d pushed Kiichi up against a wall, and Kiichi’s eyes had gone wide when he’d felt Kimishita, hard, brush against his thigh. 

Kiichi’d flipped their positions, pushing Kimishita up against the wall. He’d reached down and jacked him off roughly, had stared and savored every noise that escaped Kimishita’s mouth. Kiichi had licked his fingers clean, watched Kimishita take in heaving breaths, eyes blown wide and dark, and he’d  _wanted_. 

Kiichi’d walked away, then, leaving Kimishita still recovering in the locker room, and they’d pretended that nothing had happened – until today.

“Isn’t it?” Kiichi asks. There’s a long beat of silence, and then Kimishita’s hand cards through his hair, surprisingly gentle. Kiichi closes his eyes, feels a familiar ache echo through his chest.

“Don’t,” Kiichi warns, and he hates how his voice shakes. He hears Kimishita shift, above him, and when he opens his eyes again, Kimishita’s in front of him at eye-level, on his knees as well.

“I don’t fucking understand you sometimes,” Kimishita says, wiping away blood from Kiichi’s lips with the back of his hand.

When Kimishita kisses him, it’s soft, and Kiichi doesn’t know what to think anymore –  _can’t_  think, can only kiss back and sigh into it.

* * *

**iv. the one where it’s almost romantic.**  
“I’m in love with you,” Kiichi says, holding out a bouquet, and Atsushi’s eyes widen.  _Kiichi – is this a joke?_

Kiichi reads his face, because he shakes his head frantically, taking a step closer to Atsushi. “I’m serious,” he says. “This is a confession, asshole. Where’s my answer?”

Atsushi – he feels as if his legs are leaden, and even though the rational part of him screams at him to pull back, to walk away, his body betrays him, reaching out and taking the bouquet with trembling hands. 

“Yeah,” Atsushi mumbles, lost for words – because what can he say to that? He’s fought with himself for years, hiding himself away and hating himself because of what he’s thought, what he’s felt, and here – here’s Kiichi, always in his face, always ruining everything with his  _stupid_  fucking mouth, offering him everything he’s always wanted.

“Yeah?” Kiichi asks, and lets out a laugh. “That’s not an answer,” he says, trying to be smooth, but Atsushi can read him like a book – he can hear the way his voice comes out too breathy, can hear the thinly concealed panic in the way he presses.

“Shut up,” Kimishita snaps, “and kiss me, you fucking  _romantic_ ,” gritting it out like it’s a curse.

Kiichi smiles, lighting up his whole face, and he does, and –

– and it’s good. It’s really good.

**Author's Note:**

> hit me up on tumblr with requests @tsukujin!   
> thanks for reading (and as always, comments and kudos are always appreciated!


End file.
